Sweets for Sammy
by Fuu43
Summary: Sam and Dean go exploring in the woods for a case. Things take a turn for the worse.


**Title:** Sweets for Sammy  
**Pairings:** No pairings, Sam, Dean  
**Rating**: PG 13  
**Disclaimer:** Supernatural does not belong to me.  
**Summary: **Sam and Dean go exploring in the woods for a case. Things take a turn for the worse.  
**Warnings**:A couple curse words.

* * *

Sam fiddled with the lock only inches from his face, hands slipping as he frantically tried to pick the rusty hunk of junk. His fingers barely fit through the equally old bars around him, the metal digging into his shoulders and legs. The hours he'd spent stuck in the cage had left his feet numb and his back aching.

The air surrounding him was sickly sweet and hot, making his stomach turn and his clothing stick to him. Sweat dripped into his eyes and matted his hair. The oven was on, had been running nonstop from the moment he'd woken up. The unnatural heat filled the space and made him feel as if he'd been sitting in a sauna all day. Outside it was early summer and the weather had been unusually warm the last few days.

Unable to move, Sam felt as if he were slowly roasting alive. His heart raced from the heat and behind his eyes a headache throbbed. He was unsure just what the temperature was inside of the small cottage, but was so stifled each breath was a wet gasp.

Across from him the kitchen was covered in pink wallpaper and had matching plates, cups, and utensils; the countertops were stacked with cakes, pies, and breads. In the oven a batch of chocolate chip cookies baked, the tenth dessert he'd witnessed being made that day.

He hissed as a finger jammed against the lock and he almost dropped the pick he held. Sam was certain that if his body could have spared the moisture he'd be crying out of sheer frustration. He'd been trying for what seemed like hours to get free, but there was no space to move, no space to think. To the right of him were three small windows, each with curtains a matching turquoise. Outside the sun was just beginning to set, casting long shadows across the worn wooden floor.

He didn't think he'd last another day trapped in such a suffocating space.

Beyond the kitchen was another room and from Sam's location only the back of a green faded sofa was visible. He could hear her in there, humming under her breath as she worked. He resisted the urge to curse out loud and once more focused on the ancient lock that held him prisoner. She had been in and out of the room all day, and as time wore on Sam's ability to concentrate slowly drained out of him.

He felt as if he were melting, as if his brains had drained out from his ears.

The woman bustled back into the room, holding a tray covered with a used teacup and plate. Sam quickly slid his hands back into the cage, sliding the lock pick into his jean pocket.

She was stooped with age, smiling face lined with wrinkles. Her hair was blue gray and pulled up into a loose bun. On the tip of her nose a pair of glasses perched and she wore a sky blue dress with a matching apron.

She looked like someone's grandmother, looked like she'd bounced dozens of children on her knees while reading stories. Sam didn't doubt that she'd met dozens of children, her eyes were red and on the kitchen counter a clear jar of bones sat nestled up to the flour and sugar. They were too small for an adult.

"Now now, where did I put that pie?" She spoke to herself as she moved, ignoring Sam as she set the tray down and opened the fridge. Cool air wafted out of the appliance and Sam's fingers automatically clenched in want.

Pulling out a pie covered in meringue, she carefully arranged it on the kitchen table, setting the tray into the sink as she moved.

"Would you like some dearie?"

When Sam didn't answer, she nodded her head and returned to the cabinets, opening several until she had a fine piece of china and a knife. Despite her hunched appearance she moved like a person half her age, bouncing lightly as she traveled well worn paths.

The slice she cut was huge, filling the plate obscenely and glaring neon green at him. He looked at it and swallowed back his nausea. Dean had always been a fan of pie, but Sam had a feeling that in this instance even his older brother would have refused it.

She had been feeding Sam all day, cookies and candies and chocolates until even the thought of food made his stomach turn.

"You want some right, honey?"

She smiled and held the plate out; her teeth were stained brown and pointed. Sam had tried refusing at first, but the cage made it impossible for him to escape. He nodded, not glancing at the knife she still held in her other hand. His forearms were crisscrossed in red and a few of the cuts were deep enough that he wasn't certain it was just the heat making his head swim.

There wasn't a fork offered and he grabbed at the pie from between the bars. It was blessedly cool between his fingers and for a second Sam was tempted to smear the sugary concoction all over is sweaty face. Instead he choked it down, fighting with each mouthful to keep from throwing up. She'd threatened more than once that he was going to have to eat it one way or another, and Sam had no desire to taste regurgitated anything.

It was slow going, and when the plate was finally clean he wiped his fingers at his shirt and rested his forehead against the bars. His stomach churned in warning.

"My! Boys these days and their appetites!"

He shut his eyes as she turned away and meandered to the kitchen sink, the dishes clinking as she washed them by hand. Sam listened as the oven timer went off and the cookies were removed, trying to remain focused as the world around him swam.

It was supposed to be such an _easy_ hunt. After everything that had been happening lately, after all the bullshit that the two of them had been through, Sam knew that the both of them needed a break. They needed a job that required little research, one that had a quick fix to help them regain their spirits. Sam had been ready for an in and out job, been ready for an easy hunt and then a few days of relaxation.

It had even sounded like fun, the type of hunt the two of them simply didn't encounter anymore. Who wouldn't want to investigate a kindly old woman who lived just off the beaten path, loved giving out sweets, and had an even greater interest in the local children? It was a hunt with no gray areas, no hidden motives or unexpected twists.

He tried not to think of what his brother was doing, had been trying to push that out of his mind from the moment he'd been taken. Sam wasn't certain where Dean was, what had kept him so long, or when Dean would be arriving. With the heat it was becoming easier to not focus on Dean, everything seemed to slip out of his mind before he could grab hold of it.

His brother would be pissed though that he'd let the old woman get the drop on him.

Sam forced his eyes back open, not wanting to let his guard down with her around, but she had already left. His eyes lazily scanned the kitchen, noticing immediately that the dishes in the sink were done and that most of the sweets had been put away. A lone plate of cookies remained on the kitchen table. He wondered how long he'd dozed and strained his ears for some sign of her. The place was quiet.

Outside the windows the sun had truly set and only the light above the stove illuminated the room. It was still hotter than hell in the kitchen and Sam panted as his lungs fought to pull in air.

He shut his eyes again as the world spun and nausea rose once more, even with the darkness cocooning him he felt as if he were trapped on the sun.

"Hey."

The whisper was so quiet for a moment Sam wasn't sure he'd heard anything at all. His eyes opened reflexively and he jerked back in surprise.

Dean's face was flushed from the heat but the gun he held and the grin on his face were a welcome sight. He wore the same faded t-shirt he'd been in earlier when they'd been separated, though it was now dirt stained and ripped in several places. His older brother set the weapon down for a moment, reached into his pocket and pulled out a lock pick set that matched Sam's. Sam let out a quiet laugh that was almost a sob at the thought of being able to stretch out.

Dean glanced around before getting to work, eyes taking in the sugary sweet decorations and cookies. Sam rested against the bars and watched him.

"You can't have a cookie."

Sam hadn't planned on saying anything at all but he knew that Dean loved sweet things. He couldn't let his brother make such a rookie mistake. Dean paused momentarily, eyes moving to his brother before going back to his work. A small frown pulled at his face.

"It's not that I don't want you to have one," Sam spoke, just noticing how his words kept trying to slide together, "It's that she wants you to eat them and-"

Sam swallowed, his stomach churning miserably as he recalled sweet after sweet.

"Dean."

Thankfully, his brother understood the warning for what it was and stepped back just as Sam's stomach tried to get rid of everything it had consumed the last twenty four hours. The movement was strained in the tiny cell, muscles clenching as his stomach twisted and his eyes screwed themselves shut. The sweets tasted awful coming up and by the time it was over Sam rested limply against the side of the cage.

"I got it, I got it Sam." He opened his eyes as Dean tucked the set away and opened the front of the cage. Dean's hands reached out and grasped one of Sam's shoulders. "Can you get out on your own?"

He watched Dean for a second, mind fumbling as he tried to remember how to crawl, how to breathe. The small cage was bolted to some sort of stand and he couldn't quite remember how she'd gotten him into it. He only knew that he couldn't stand being trapped for another moment.

Nodding at Dean's question, he tried to untangle his legs, using his arms to grip the sides of the cage for support. They flexed weakly, muscles straining at the sudden activity. He pulled one leg free, tipping out of the cage as his sense of balance fled. Dean caught him haphazardly, holding most of his weight as he gently tugged the rest of Sam out from the small space.

Sam locked his legs in an effort to stay standing, fists gripping Dean's t-shirt as his head swam. His stomach heaved and he fought the urge to puke again, knowing that his brother wouldn't be able to avoid it while holding him up. He closed his eyes, feeling Dean's hands grow tighter.

"Sam, we're going to sit now, okay?"

Sam tried to respond, head lolling forward into the space between Dean's shoulder and neck. Dean was cool, his skin like ice beneath Sam's forehead. Sam didn't know how his brother managed to stay so cool while they were trapped on the sun. It didn't seem fair that only he was affected.

Moments later Dean was sitting down, gently tugging his brother with him.

He let his older brother rearrange him and felt his back rest against something firm. Opening his eyes, he blearily watched Dean straighten out his legs. They were still blessedly numb and Sam watched Dean's movements with a detached fascination.

Dean's eyes flickered to Sam's, eyes searching his for a moment before he stood up. He quietly moved towards the countertops, opening cupboards methodically.

"Dean," Sam's voice barely seemed to cut through the heat that still clung to him like a second skin, "No cookies."

With the fridge open, Dean turned his head and watched him for a moment. He moved back towards Sam minutes later, carrying a glass of water.

"Okay Sam, no cookies." Sam looked on as Dean lowered himself down to eye level, "Open up ."

He watched Dean raise the glass, confused for a moment why Dean hadn't just handed the water to him, then opened his mouth.

The water was lukewarm and Sam struggled for moment to remember how to swallow. Water dribbled from his mouth, trickled down his chin and dripped onto his sweat drenched shirt. Though brackish, it still tasted more delicious than anything he could remember. He managed to swallow two more mouthfuls before Dean pulled the glass away. Sam licked his lips, eyes slowly blinking as they focused back on his brother.

"More."

He didn't mean to sound so demanding, even as one of his hands slowly raised itself and reached for the water. Dean moved the glass away, setting it on the floor just beyond Sam's reach.

"Sorry Sam, a little bit at a time is better."

Sam couldn't help the whine that left him, even as he reached halfheartedly for the glass again. His arms had turned to rubber and his fingernails weakly scratched at the floor. He just needed a little bit more of the liquid, just had to have enough to cool him off. His balanced tipped and he crashed to his side. Dean cursed.

Wanting to laugh, Sam instead let his head rest on the floor and closed his eyes again. Dean was talking again, but Sam couldn't bring himself to listen. The words were being spoken too fast, Dean's voice was still too quiet. Beneath him the floor was cool and Sam wondered for a moment if Dean would just let him lay there until he felt better.

"We gotta go Sam." He felt Dean's hand rest on his shoulder and struggled to focus, "When we're out of here and back at the motel you can have all the water you want."

Sam listened to his brother's words and licked his lips at the thought. His mind skipped to the idea of being back in the motel, of taking a cool bath while chewing on a cup full of ice cubes. He half spoke, half hummed in agreement.

Opening his eyes, he tried to help as Dean slowly righted him, head bobbing forward as the movement had bile rushing back up his throat. He swallowed, focusing on two red points in the distance to help steady him. They grew larger, blinking out of existence before lighting up again.

A moment later he was tensing, mind struggling to catch up to the feeling of urgency pulsing just under his skin.

"Dean."

"I know, I know… you can have more water in just a sec."

The old woman stepped into the room, her eyes twin pits of fire embedded in a bitter face. Her lips were forced into a hard line and the nightcap on her head matched her nightgown. She took another step into the room, her slippers making no sound as she moved. Her lips curled into a smile as she stepped into a patch of moonlight.

"Dean!"

Dean turned his head, jerking as the woman grabbed him by the shoulder and tossed him into one of the cupboards. He let out a grunt at the movement, rotating his shoulder as he struggled to his feet. The old woman followed, ducking under a punch that would have knocked her on her back, shoving Dean into the far wall with a loud crack.

"Silly boy, don't you know how to wait your turn?"

Sam struggled to push himself up, to help his brother, but the floor wouldn't stop spinning beneath him. He tried again, this time black spots spreading across his vision at an alarming rate. He floated for a moment, only half aware of what was happening around him before his vision began to clear. He was sprawled out on the floor again, one arm folded uncomfortably under him.

Across the room Dean shook his head and tried again to get his feet under him. She tugged with one hand at the door to the oven and it opened easily. Heat washed across the room, sweat immediately pooling behind Sam's knees and at his collarbone. He felt as if he were suddenly trapped in the cage again, that there was no air to breathe or place to go. His lungs seemed to stutter, heart skipping as he was unexpectedly out of breath.

He lifted one hand to his chest, willing his heartbeat to stop racing.

She walked around the open door, not seeming to mind the heat in the slightest, and kept her eyes on Dean. His brother was on his hands and knees, pushing himself up.

The woman grabbed at the back of Dean's shirt, pulling him so that his feet couldn't gain purchase. Dean struggled comically, head twisting back as he tried to reach for her arm and regain his balance. She lifted him like he weighed nothing and smiled as she watched him struggle.

It would have been hilarious, except Sam could feel the heat wafting out from the open door. Could remember being folded into a tight cage for hours and hours.

Sam forced himself to his knees, crawling up behind the two as she tried to force Dean into the oven. Dean grunted and fought back, and the two of them shifted back and forth in front of the open door. She cracked Dean in the side with her fist, startling him enough that a foot slipped until it caught on the edge of the open doorway.

Sweat beaded on his brother's face and he pushed back against the old lady's hold even as she tried to force more of him in.

Sam struggled forward while the two people fighting remained oblivious to his slow and jerky movements. Trembling with exhaustion, he paused behind the woman and drew back a fist. In his condition he was no good for any sort of sustained fighting, Sam knew he had enough problems just staying coherent. He was little help in his current state and this first strike was probably the only one he would get.

He let his fist smash into the back of her knee, watching with fascination as she crumpled nearly on top of him. Sam's arm hadn't wanted to move, his muscles hadn't wanted to flex. They ached now as if he'd run a marathon.

Dean pulled himself free, wriggling out of her grip. Sam leaned forward and tried to push at her other leg, watching with fascination as she lost her balance again and tipped face forward and into the oven. Moments later the door was closed, Dean slouching against it.

Sweat dripped down Dean's face and behind him Sam could see the orange of fire in the window of the oven.

"Jesus." Dean sighed, gently touching a bleeding wound on his forehead.

He watched his brother carefully pushed himself to his feet, brushing his hands on his jeans and ignoring the burning smell of flesh that was slowly filling the room.

"Dean?"

Sam tried to follow his brother's actions, to push himself up, but his legs wouldn't cooperate. His lungs were still struggling and the walls were beginning to slowly rotate.

"I gotcha Sammy."

Dean reached down and Sam tried to get his feet under him. He leaned heavily on Dean, hating the heat that now seemed to radiate off his brother. Dean stepped and Sam forced himself to follow.

"How about we get you out of here, huh?"

Sam nodded his head, making a low noise as his constant headache spiked. He swallowed, stomach churning uncomfortably, once more on the verge of puking his guts out. Dean remained still, as if aware of how close Sam was to losing it, and after several slow breaths Sam nodded his head.

"I'm okay."

The words were spoken quietly but Sam knew that his brother had heard them. Dean held most of his weight and Sam made his feet follow each slow step his brother took.

The rest of the small home was ordinary looking, worn couches, a sturdy coffee table, and bookshelves lined with mystery novels filling the space invitingly. Sam wondered how many people had eaten here not knowing what was going to happen to them, happen to their children.

Outside it was hot, but a breeze cut through the worst of it and Sam stopped unintentionally as it raced across his skin. He tipped his head back, ignoring his brother who struggled to keep them both balanced, and sighed. It cleared his head, cut through the haze that had stuck to him like a second skin.

"Come on Sam."

Sam let himself be led, content with his brother guiding his movements. His sense of balance was still a mess and there was no way he'd ever make it to the car on his own. Dean maneuvered him around rocks and carefully over any uneven ground. The grass needed to be cut and without his brother's help, Sam was certain it would have tripped him up. He felt like a toddler, like a kid who could remain upright only when gripping the side of the couch or the edge of a table.

Moments later Sam was carefully propped against the Impala as Dean opened the passenger door. The outside of the car was cool and Sam let himself slouch against it.

"Here we go Sam."

Sam tried to make his limbs bend, but when he could only stay slouched against the Impala he let his eyes meet Dean's. The corners of his brother's eyes crinkled in understanding.

"I got it."

Sam tried to help as Dean took his weight and folded him into the vehicle, gently guiding his head so that it wouldn't hit the roof and carefully tucking his long limbs into it. He watched lazily as his brother leaned over him and turned the car on. Dean cranked the air and then kneeled outside of the car so that he was at eye level with Sam.

"I'll be right back. Are you going to be okay?"

Sam wanted to laugh at the expression on his brother's face, but could only bring himself to blink slowly.

"Hot."

The word was half slurred and barely audible. Dean nodded, leaning across Sam and snagging a water bottle from the back seat.

"I know, Sammy."

Sam drank as much as his brother let him, trembling and weak by the time Dean put the bottle away.

"I'm going to be right back. Okay?"

Dean watched him for a moment and Sam did his best to answer.

"Yeah."

The door closed and Sam listened as his brother opened and shut the trunk before heading back towards the small home. He disappeared inside and Sam shut his eyes and let the cool air filling the car wash over him.

Something sounded low and slowly pulled Sam from the half doze he was in. The car was moving, headlights illuminating blacktop and the edges of trees. Next to him Dean tapped out a rhythm to the barely audible music playing. Sam let his eyes adjust slowly, taking in the packs of ice that had been shoved beneath his arms and between his legs. Exhausted, he swiveled his head back to his brother.

"Dean?"

His brother's eyes flickered to him before moving back towards the road.

"Your fine Sam, go back to sleep."

Sam let his eyes slip back shut. Dean resumed tapping on the steering wheel.

"So," Sam's voice filled the quiet space, "Does that make you Gretel?"

There was a moment of silence before Dean chuckled.


End file.
